


Bad Guy

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lance Tucker is indeed a fucker, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-31 05:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: Lance’s office lights are on when they shouldn’t be.





	Bad Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Song prompt: "Bad Guy" by Billie Eilish.
> 
> Enjoy!

The sky is barely more than pitch black when Lance pulls into the parking lot of his gym. Today’s one of those sucky days: a seven-year old auditioning, a team routine to develop, parent meeting for a teenager who’s not up to par for the upcoming competitions.

Hopefully the seven year old actually delivers. At least his mom is hot, unlike the teen girl’s decrepit great-aunt.

Lance winces as he unlocks the door. Optics aren’t great, sending an orphan packing. But frankly, she’ll do a helluva lot better when she’s not constantly on the verge of tears.

Tears aren’t attractive, anyway.

Lance flicks on the lights and sheds his track jacket, tossing it on a stack of mats as he jogs to start a warmup, breathing in the familiar smell of mars and sweat and chalky dust.

Then he stops.

The lights in his office are on.

He squints. He _ clearly _ remembers leaving a dark building last night. There aren’t any other cars in the lot. And everyone else with a key has their orders to let him know if they stop in overnight.

They live in fear of him, as they should.

Unless…

Lance curls his hands into fists and stalks towards his office.

No. They wouldn’t _ dare_.

So… it must have been someone else.

Lance pushes the office door open with a snarl, muscles taut and teeth bared.

No one.

But his desk chair isn’t where he left it. It’s not behind his desk, or scooched a few feet away like usual. It’s in _ front _ of the desk, the high leather back to him. Lance pushes the seat around with a kick.

Chalky letters on the back of the seat.

_ YOU OWE ME A CALL_.

Lance stares, baffled. No number, no hint as to who the hell left the message.

His eyes dart up, down, sideways, back down—

“The fuck?” he mutters.

There’s a wet spot on his chair. Water? No… Not soda or piss either. Lance drops to a crouch, heart hammering in his chest. He leans down til his nose is inches away and breathes in.

“Oh _ fuuuuck_,” he groans.

The wet spot isn’t big, but the smell of arousal—briny, delicious, sharp—is like a punch in the face. Blood rushes to his cock, and Lance’s mind goes straight to last weekend: lying on his back, your mouth bobbing along his cock and your teeth scraping in all the right ways while he ate you out with a vengeance, slapping your ass and biting your thighs whenever you did something particularly clever with your mouth. Spilling down your throat, the taste of you heady on his tongue.

The same taste as the smell clouding his senses. Lance’s tongue darts out, tastes it, tastes _ you_.

Then his brain catches up with him, and he scoots back and shoves the chair away, heart pounding even harder in his chest.

How the _ hell _ did you get in here? _ When _ the hell? Fuck all that—_why? _

Lance’s eyes trace the words you’ve left behind. _ You owe me a call. _ He scans his brain—he’d never promised to call. Never promised a damn thing. So what the fuck were you thinking?

A light footfall behind him makes him freeze.

“You really should apologize.”

Your voice falls over him like silk and satin and sex. Lance swallows and sits on his heels. He spreads his hands across his thighs, pulling his pants tighter against his swelling cock.

“Why would I?” he asks.

A pair of panties fly over his shoulder. Instinctively, Lance grabs them out of the air. And _ groans_. Even just grabbing them haphazardly, he can feel how soaked they are.

“It’s awful rude to leave a person hanging like that.”

Your hand curls around his neck and tilts his head to the side. He catches the barest glimpse of your bare form shrouded only in his track jacket, teasing him with a glimpse of cleavage, before you bite the shell of his ear and reach down his front, your nails scraping through his shirt down his abs and under the waistband of his pants until your fingers are around him.

And _ damn _if that first touch doesn’t go straight to his woozy head. He tilts his head back, nuzzles his way under the jacket to suck at your breast, his empty hand squeezing your hip, your thigh. You hum with pleasure, a self-satisfied noise that almost pulls Lance out of his stupor.

“If you aren’t gonna apologize with words,” you murmur, fingers tightening around his cock, “I suppose I’ll take this.”

“I’ll take _ you,_” Lance promises, his voice low and husky against your skin. He stuffs your panties in his back pocket—a souvenir _ well _ worth keeping.

You shiver as his teeth dig against your pebbled nipple.

“Sure,” you breathe. “You can put it like that.” You disentangle yourself from his hands and settle in his leather chair, legs spread wide enough for Lance to see _ exactly _ how you’d left that wet spot behind. All the evidence of his bites on your thighs have faded. His jacket falls open across your outthrust chest, baring your breasts and every other sweet bit of you.

“Now come here,” you order, tapping your clit impatiently, “and mark me back up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :3 Let me know what you think!


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